Who Knows Best?
by Cat Mason
Summary: When England finds out from France that he is aiding him in America's attempt at independence, he is not happy. Implied FRUS. Flash fiction.


**Author's Note: I like USUK as much as the next person, but I love the family version of them too. I don't imagine England being so cruel, though, it just worked for this story. I wrote this short, short story inspired by the song "Mother Knows Best" from the Disney movie, _Tangled_. I wanted some practice writing, away from my original work, so here you go.**

England's face contorted in a mixture of rage and sorrow which America had been unfamiliar with. Never had he seen the man in such a way.

While, during most visits, he was greeted with a smile, a hug, and presents, this visit had been different. England had known about America's rebellious tendencies, but when his intentions slipped from France's lips, the extensiveness of such tendencies dawned on him. America was his colony-he belonged to him. For America's people to have ideas of independence was not only ludicrous, but infuriating as well. And when England showed up at America's doorstep and America saw his expression, America knew exactly what was wrong.

Nothing was said at first, not until the doors closed behind him and America warily followed him through the house. Then, England turned on him, glaring up at his colony. It was now that he realized just how much America had grown. Of course, he had noticed before, and was pleasantly surprised. However, this was now a different matter. America thought he was better than him.

"I can't believe you!" England shouted, unable to conjure the proper words at first. "Why would you go to France when you have me?"

America's eyes widened at the outburst. It only made sense that England would mention it, yet somehow he found himself shocked. His expression hardened. "He cares more about me than you do."

England scoffed. "Oh, America, you're so naive. Don't you know that he is only helping you become…_independent_"-the word did not come easily to him-"because he's mad at me? To accept his help is ridiculous. He doesn't care about you. Only I do."

"You don't care about me or my people," America argued, crossing his arms. "I know you don't care."

"And who exactly did you hear that from?" the older man hissed. "France?"

"You haven't cared about me for a long time. Ever since I've grown up, you've treated me terribly."

"You were cuter then," England said, eyeing his colony. It was impossible to deny that his colony was just as beautiful-and strong-as ever. Oh, he had so much potential. In some ways, it was unfortunate that England had to crush that potential into the ground and hope it never rose again. "You're making such a big mistake, allying with him against me."

"Quit acting like you knows what's best for my people, England," America spat, running a hand through his blond hair in frustration. The empire would never understand. "You know nothing."

An amused grin cracked across England's face. "Oh, really now? I know nothing, you say? But the thing is, America, I do know what's best for you."

"You mean you know what's best for yourself."

That wasn't a complete lie, England knew. Regardless, he wasn't about to admit it. "I shouldn't have spoilt you," he finally replied after moments of silence, redirecting the subject. "You think you are so mature now. You think you know the world, but I bet you wouldn't last a century as a real country. You are too naive, too proud, too lazy. I'm not quite sure where you get that from."

"He cares about me. You'll see."

"He wants revenge against me!" England shouted, his face flushing bright red. In a split moment though, he calmed and sneered slightly in his colony's direction. "Fine. If you think you're so sure, go. You'll see."

"No. You'll see." America grinned, confidence picking back up again. "You will see he loves me, unlike you. I'll become independent!"

Fists clenching in anger, England had to grit his teeth in order to hold back from defending himself. If he hit America, France would have an upper hand. "Go, then! But if he uses you and leaves, don't come back crying!" Somehow, England knew this was a lie. The second the words left his mouth, he knew he was lying to the boy. If America came to him, crying, England did not doubt that he would hold him, comfort him, and feel a smug twinge of pride in knowing that he was right.

"Fine." America said, blue eyes widened, brow furrowed. "Even if he does leave, I'm never coming back!" With those last words, the boy shoved past England, rushing through the halls and out the door, slamming it shut.


End file.
